the Haldol and lithium) well, it shouldn’t be all that surprising. It took him hours to swim back to the shores of consciousness. Andwho was waiting for him right there on the beach? A nurse carrying a small white cup. Casting him out to sea again.
It takes time for a body to adjust to the meds. Really not all that different from building up one’s tolerance to alcohol. Once, one beer had your head wobbling loose on your neck, but in time, it might take five or six. You learn to hold your liquor. In the ward, you learn to hold your pills.
But it takes time.
Pepper’s seventy-two-hour observation period came and went, and he hardly realized its passing. Not that he forgot, he was just so busy swimming. Who petitions for his legal rights while trying desperately not to drown?
When he came to New Hyde, it was the third week of February.
When he finally shook off his medical haze, it was the middle of March.
8
PEPPER DIDN’T UNDERSTAND how much time he’d lost until he wandered out of his room and down Northwest 2 and shuffled up to the nurses’ station. He put both elbows on the top tier like a man sidling up for a drink. He even smiled as he looked down at Scotch Tape, Miss Chris, and another nurse charting. He meant to ask how he could sign himself out of his padded cell. Seventy-two hours had surely come and gone.
Then he saw a copy of the
New York Post
up there on the nurses’ station. It lay flat, facedown, the back cover showing the lead story of the sports section. Unofficial policy saw staff often leaving their old newspapers out for patients to read. A minor kindness. And at the top of the page, Pepper saw, almost in passing, a mention of March Madness, the NCAA Division 1 Men’s Basketball Championship.
March
.
How could the
Post
already be talking about fans bracket picks? In February?
Pepper might’ve been impulsive, a little quick to throw hands, but he wasn’t stupid. And as he came to understand the
real
news the paper was delivering to him—it’s March 17!—Pepper had to clutch at the nurses’ station desktop just to keep from keeling over.
He grabbed at the desktop and leaned forward. He looked like aman halfway in a lake, trying to climb back into the boat. He flailed out with one hand and sent the newspaper flying from the station like a gray bird.
Scotch Tape rose up and Miss Chris rolled her seat backward, out of the nurses’ station, and around the side to get closer to Pepper, without lifting her butt from the chair. The other nurse already had her keys in hand and was fiddling with the drawer where they kept the tranquilizers.
Pepper looked at Scotch Tape directly and said quietly. “It’s March. Why am I still here?”
Scotch Tape looked into Pepper’s eyes. He realized the big man wasn’t trying to come over the desk, wasn’t attacking the staff, so he spoke as calmly as he could. “That was the doctor’s decision, not mine.”
“I want to see him,” Pepper said.
Miss Chris clapped a hand against her thigh. “You and me both!”
She put one hand on the nurses’ station and pulled herself up from the chair.
“That man makes the rules, but we the ones who enforce them. And we get all your scorn in the bargain.”
Pepper let go of the desktop and stood tall again. “But he can’t just decide to keep me here like that. Without telling me.”
The other nurse, whom Pepper now recognized as the one he had knocked down during his escape attempt weeks before, stopped jimmying the desk drawer and grabbed a three-ring binder. She opened the cover and flipped pages and finally found the one she wanted. She stood up and stepped closer to Scotch Tape, then set the open binder on the desktop so Pepper could see.
A form with four paragraphs of single-spaced legalese. It looked like a warranty.
“So what’s this?” Pepper asked. He barely glanced at it. He didn’t want to
read
, he wanted to be
heard
.
Scotch Tape said, “Consent form, big man. Agreeing to be
It takes time for a body to adjust to the meds. Really not all that different from building up one’s tolerance to alcohol. Once, one beer had your head wobbling loose on your neck, but in time, it might take five or six. You learn to hold your liquor. In the ward, you learn to hold your pills.
But it takes time.
Pepper’s seventy-two-hour observation period came and went, and he hardly realized its passing. Not that he forgot, he was just so busy swimming. Who petitions for his legal rights while trying desperately not to drown?
When he came to New Hyde, it was the third week of February.
When he finally shook off his medical haze, it was the middle of March.
8
PEPPER DIDN’T UNDERSTAND how much time he’d lost until he wandered out of his room and down Northwest 2 and shuffled up to the nurses’ station. He put both elbows on the top tier like a man sidling up for a drink. He even smiled as he looked down at Scotch Tape, Miss Chris, and another nurse charting. He meant to ask how he could sign himself out of his padded cell. Seventy-two hours had surely come and gone.
Then he saw a copy of the
New York Post
up there on the nurses’ station. It lay flat, facedown, the back cover showing the lead story of the sports section. Unofficial policy saw staff often leaving their old newspapers out for patients to read. A minor kindness. And at the top of the page, Pepper saw, almost in passing, a mention of March Madness, the NCAA Division 1 Men’s Basketball Championship.
March
.
How could the
Post
already be talking about fans bracket picks? In February?
Pepper might’ve been impulsive, a little quick to throw hands, but he wasn’t stupid. And as he came to understand the
real
news the paper was delivering to him—it’s March 17!—Pepper had to clutch at the nurses’ station desktop just to keep from keeling over.
He grabbed at the desktop and leaned forward. He looked like aman halfway in a lake, trying to climb back into the boat. He flailed out with one hand and sent the newspaper flying from the station like a gray bird.
Scotch Tape rose up and Miss Chris rolled her seat backward, out of the nurses’ station, and around the side to get closer to Pepper, without lifting her butt from the chair. The other nurse already had her keys in hand and was fiddling with the drawer where they kept the tranquilizers.
Pepper looked at Scotch Tape directly and said quietly. “It’s March. Why am I still here?”
Scotch Tape looked into Pepper’s eyes. He realized the big man wasn’t trying to come over the desk, wasn’t attacking the staff, so he spoke as calmly as he could. “That was the doctor’s decision, not mine.”
“I want to see him,” Pepper said.
Miss Chris clapped a hand against her thigh. “You and me both!”
She put one hand on the nurses’ station and pulled herself up from the chair.
“That man makes the rules, but we the ones who enforce them. And we get all your scorn in the bargain.”
Pepper let go of the desktop and stood tall again. “But he can’t just decide to keep me here like that. Without telling me.”
The other nurse, whom Pepper now recognized as the one he had knocked down during his escape attempt weeks before, stopped jimmying the desk drawer and grabbed a three-ring binder. She opened the cover and flipped pages and finally found the one she wanted. She stood up and stepped closer to Scotch Tape, then set the open binder on the desktop so Pepper could see.
A form with four paragraphs of single-spaced legalese. It looked like a warranty.
“So what’s this?” Pepper asked. He barely glanced at it. He didn’t want to
read
, he wanted to be
heard
.
Scotch Tape said, “Consent form, big man. Agreeing to be
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